Kenshin's Lament
by Saiyagirl
Summary: Basically, it's Kenshin babbling about the horrors of his life. And boy, does he have a lot to babble about. This was intended to be partially humorous but rather angsty on the side, so go 'figure.


Standard disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin. It is owned by Watsuki Nobuhiro, Shuiesha, Shounen Jump, and Sony Entertainment, Fuji TV, Media Blasters & ADV Films. This was written in no way to make a profit. 

Author Warnings: People, this was _intended_ to be a comedy. (_Intended_, anyway. Anybody laughing? *crickets chirp*) If you take this seriously, I will hit you over the head with a stick. (*cough*) 

Further Warnings: I have _nothing_ against Kenshin + Kaoru. In fact, I _like_ the couple. Then again, I have nothing against Kenshin + Tomoe either. This is just an idea of mine. All the more reason _not_ to take this seriously, ne? 

****

Kenshin's Lament

Judgement. Precision. Timing. It was what my life revolved around. Most important of all – acting. I couldn't lose the only things that kept my cover hidden. If those around me discovered just how much over the edge I really could be… disastrous consequences. Confusion. Calamity. Catastrophe. Not to mention breaking objects and hysterical females. And that wouldn't even be the worst of it. 

Judgement. Precision. Yeah, right. There's something just not right about me. A person shouldn't have the amount of sheer power that I do. Not to brag, I mean. I know it's stupid to believe in my own invincibility, but when you've been dubbed 'the strongest' in Japan, it kinda goes to your head. 

Timing. Does that ever bug me to the red lands and beyond. Cups, bokkens, chairs, you name it – sails at me without mercy every minute of the day, and I just _have_ to take them all. Can't even _dodge_ decently, oh no. _Must_ act like a man. A normal man. I'll have to commemorate myself. How I manage to stand there and take flying projectiles without flinching, even when I _know_ I can step out of the way – I still don't know. 

If it weren't for my extraordinary healing factors I'd probably be dead today. Not that that it wouldn't save Japan a whole lot of grief in the long run. Kami-sama knows I've done enough. Couple hundred murders aren't enough, it seems. Somehow, the gods have it in their heads that the killer must make earthly retribution before suffering for eternity in hell. An arrangement which I knew I had coming to me. 

Acting. Ah yes, that delicate faculty of which I have perfected over a decade of experience. There isn't a personality I can not imitate, not a speech pattern I can not copy, not a gesture I can not master. Any kabuki actor would kill for half the ability in I retain. All to hide the monster. It's all for one purpose only. To cover; to suppress; to restrain; to subdue that which lives subconsciously in me. 

It works too. I'd like to say 'like a charm', but unfortunately, that is not so. It doesn't work like a charm because it isn't fail-safe. I know that from painful experience. I can slip oh-so-very-easily. In fact, I can picture it now. Emotion – too much for me to handle – too much for me to bear – too much all at once. Any single one will do it. Anger, fear, hate, rage, fury. Those are my personal preferences. Those worked for me during the Bakumatsu no Douran. 

When the emotion starts going deeper, things can get hairy real fast. Love, for instance. After the _Last Murder_, I swore I would never love again. Once was quite enough, thank you _very_ much. I died the day she died. It's one of love's little ironies. Love can kill you and resurrect you and then kill you again – all without mercy, all without any sense of rhyme, reason, or predictability. 

What else? How about revenge or grief? Or even, say, friendship? The whole reason I started wandering was because I didn't want friends. I didn't want contact. Heck, I wanted to escape all human kind. It worked for about ten years. Then _she_ came along. Practically sat me down in her dojo and made me do laundry. 

Contrary to popular belief, I do _not_ enjoy doing laundry. It's tiring, tedious labor, requiring much time and effort on my part, and frankly, I would rather not indulge. But of course, _she_ wished it. So I _did_ end up indulging, whether I liked it or not. And she's not even _aware_. But enough about laundry.

How about cooking? Now that is something I can certainly take up. An old sage once gave me some words of wisdom on my travels that I found immensely useful:

"If you are a warrior, I can only say this: Take up a useful hobby so that when the war you've worked so hard to end is finally over, you won't be left unemployed. Besides, women find it charming when men can sew." 

Just for the record: I _can_ sew. And cook. And do laundry. Mustn't forget the laundry. Not to mention a myriad of other domestic activities that any self-respecting man wouldn't be caught dead doing. And I'm _still_ unemployed. It's clear I took the sage's advice close to heart. Maybe a bit too close. What's a man to do while wandering for ten years? Currently, I work freelance for a violent kenjutsu instructor with an absurdly peaceful idealism. I don't even get _paid_. Life can be _sooo_ unfair.

Did I mention that everyone under the Kamiya roof is a complete loony? (Yes, that _does_ include myself. I knew I was off the deep end a long time ago. The problem is, do _they_?) Take my landlady, for example. She professes that she loves me. Actually, most people tell me that she professes this. I personally think Kaoru would sooner die than say so out loud in front of me. The problem is this: she really doesn't. How do I know? I think it should be obvious. 

True enough, I _do_ think she loves the Rurouni. I am not so dense that I don't notice. (Though others may claim otherwise.) But it's very clear that she has already carved me in half: love for the Rurouni and hate for Battousai. She _said_ so herself that she wanted the Rurouni. So I giver her Rurouni – enough for her to choke on, but she still's as ineffectual as ever. When can I give this up???

How can she love me when she doesn't even really _know_ me? She knows only the Rurouni – and that's only half of me. How many times has she seen Battousai? Once or twice, maybe less. And when she sees him, she totally freaks out. That time with Saitoh? Man, did she ever loose it. How's a man to concentrate when there's a hysterically weepy female in the background babbling about 'loosing' me when I'm standing there right before her eyes? 

True, I was ready to go insane. To fall off the edge and lose it completely, but she partially stopped me. That's good, right? She's doing for me what my Tomoe did back during the Bakumatsu. Only with a slightly different method. Can't say I prefer her methods. If there's one thing I can't stand, its crying females. They make me uncomfortable. 

Then there's Yahiko. The perfect kawaiiko, if you disregard his dirty mouth and complete lack of manners. Really, he's a nice kid. The one thing I can't understand is his obsession with Hiten Mitsurugi Style. I mean, it's a style, all right? An ideal style if you were in my former line of work: assassination. I'm not particularly proud of it. Ten years of wandering forced me to accept that fact that yes, I had almost single-handedly _built_ the Meiji Era, yes, things would not be as they are today if it weren't for my efforts, and yes, my contributions had greatly helped the Reformation. All at the price of my sanity, of course. 

I digress: back to Yahiko. The boy makes it his duty to _study_ every move I make. It doesn't really bother me in single combat, but after awhile it gets creepy. Hear say that he used the strategies he learned from me to beat Hennya of the Jupon Gatana. And of course, after hearing _that_ rumor, I'm not sure if I want to congratulate him or vomit into the nearest rubbish bin. I'm _contaminating_ the poor kid. I don't think he even understands that Hiten Mitsurugi was meant as a killing technique. The best killing technique ever developed. To this day, I still occasionally wonder if he would have turned out better if I had left him on the streets. 

On Sanosuke. Resident gambler, fist-fighter, and drinker of street-thug type stock. Also former enemy, and now a true ally. It took a great deal of talking on my part to make him realize that not all the Meiji was corrupt and that the death of the Sekihoetai wasn't intentional. On a night out with him and his buddies in town, I refused to enter a geisha house with him. He called me something that forever convinced me of his sanity lapses. 

He said, "Oh Kenshin, you're such a _saint_." 

Excuse me? Has the man lost his memory or his mind? A saint? A _saint_? If I was a saint, then what in Japan was he?

Regardless, I realized then and there what he thought of me as: a former criminal, now so reformed and resolved with all my issues that I couldn't possibly hurt a fly, much less a person. On such occasions, I am truly amazed by his naiveté. I may be reformed, but I wasn't resolved with my issues, oh no, not a chance. And kami, did I have issues. 

Sano sees me as a new version of my former self, that was all. Which could be a good and bad thing. Sometimes, I forget how young he is – so young compared to me. Just a few years older than Kaoru, and that's not a lot. 

Megumi's basically our private physician. Private, meaning that she tended to my little 'family' on hours that a normal doctor would not be working. She's skilled and helpful, but one more verbal combatant in the house is a little too much for me. Especially since she seems to like me. Except that she's very obvious about it, and she likes to make Kaoru jealous as a favored side effect. 

I feel like the dirtiest piece of slime in Japan. Somehow, I still feel as if I'm being unfaithful to my wife. Or my ex-wife, since she dead. By none other than my own hand, of course. I'm like some sort of cursed disease: everything I touch dies at one point or another. Reason why I'm very careful not to touch Kaoru. Reason why I call her '-dono' and why I always pretend I don't notice her affections. Reason why I make myself ready to leave the Kamiya dojo on any given day, at any given hour. Reason why I must constantly remind myself that I don't belong in a home. 

It's hard on the nerves; but then again, I _had_ lost my sanity (or part of it) years ago, right? 

~~

Author's Notes: (*Ahem*) Yes, it's me again. I wrote this at midnight when I was _supposed_ to be studying for finals, but _anyway_….. It was written on a whim, out of a mixture of divine inspiration and complete boredom, so it might be continued _only_ when just such a combination hits me again. This is just a warning to all brave readers in advance. 


End file.
